


Encore

by HannahLydia



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Burial at Sea, But Elizabeth doesn't know that, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Incest, Incest, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Pre-Relationship, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 02:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15962723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahLydia/pseuds/HannahLydia
Summary: Booker and Elizabeth navigate the ruins of Rapture, readjusting to one another's company and deciding where they go from here.





	Encore

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bookerbeth Week '17, for the 'Reunion' prompt. This is my main headcanon for Booker and Elizabeth's reunion after Burial at Sea, and most of my post-canon works reference or follow on from this 'fix it'.

He was keeping her close.   
Though there was no real way of telling how much time had passed since they’d fled the area around Suchong’s Clinic, Elizabeth reckoned it had been a full half-hour at least. During that time - and ever since Booker had escorted her away from the Vita Chamber that had given her life - he hadn’t ceased holding her hand. It was as though he felt she would disappear if contact were severed, like he didn’t trust their luck and predicted something awful would happen if she were separated from him. It didn’t feel oppressive or bullish or in anyway scolding. Despite what they now knew to be true, she was not a disobedient child that had run, laughing, into danger and he was not the parent chastising her for being reckless. His touch was almost that of a lover’s - protective, gallant. Every now and then his thumb would trace her knuckles, whether consciously or not, and when Elizabeth looked down at where their palms met and their fingers cupped around each others, she heard his voice in her mind as surely as if he had spoken aloud. 

 _Take a leap of faith._  
  
Was this what he had meant? The ghost she had fabricated to help her through the darkness? Had she foreseen that this would happen before she had lost her memories and held onto it like the sliver of hope at the bottom of Pandora’s box? Everything was– hazy now. Her mind was covered over by a foamy tide, wiping her memories away like lines in the sand, and she’d have to wait for it to ebb away before she could make sense of them again.    

Booker moved a few steps ahead of her, taking point. He was focused on the path they were taking, alert, his brows low over eyes that were hunting for any enemies that might be hiding in the dark. His gun was at the ready, and he had drawn up their entwined hands close to his left side, near the gun holster and ammunition pouch of his leather rig.  
He hadn’t even asked her if she’d felt up to opening a tear, as if he knew what the answer would be. Physically fit as she was, Elizabeth’s powers were scattered and weak. She had been disconnected from the universe and all of it’s worlds, and now she was once again the anomaly, fighting for her omniscience. When she tried to look for the Doors they were shrouded in mist, and the paths towards them were buried by the tide. How long would it be before she was herself again? Hours? Days? Weeks? She couldn’t imagine surviving for too long down here in this hell-hole at the bottom of the sea. 

So, what was the plan? Elizabeth looked up at the back of Booker’s head, poised to speak. Did he know that Rapture was a war zone and that they were walking into no man’s land? Did he even know where they were headed? 

Practically sensing her need to clear the air, Booker broke the silence first, his head subtly turning.   
“This is that–  _doorway_ , isn’t it?” He asked her, his tone taking on that familiar stoicism of his.    
Startled and unable to immediately register his meaning, Elizabeth looked to him in question. She side-stepped a pile of debris, her heels clacking noisily on the tiled floor.   
Booker carried on walking, leaving her to stare at the hard line of his jaw. “The doorway,” He said again. “Where you brought us after– after the siphon,” He spoke as if he found it difficult to get the words out. “… The place where you lost the bird,” 

 _Oh_.   
Elizabeth’s shoulders tensed, as did her hand in his.  
Almost immediately she watched in her mind’s eye as Songbird drifted down into the black abyss of the ocean, reliving it just as she often did in her dreams. Not for the first time, she wondered if she could have done anything differently, and - as she then always did - she reminded herself that sometimes death is a kindness.   
  
“… Yes,” She replied gravely, her answer unintentionally clipped.  
What had been months ago for her had only felt like hours ago for Booker. During those months she’d felt as though she’d patched over the sore wound, but her reaction was a stark reminder of just how raw it still was. Songbird may have been her captor in the end, but for most of her life he had been all she’d ever known.   
Sensing her sudden withdrawal, Booker lapsed into silence. 

The path ahead of them was strobe-lit by a damaged spotlight, revealing severe destruction to the corridor’s interior. A stone support pillar had fallen across the path, broken up in places, and sea water was dripping through cracks in the ceiling. The city’s infrastructure was creaking and rattling in a way that made Elizabeth’s gut twist nervously, but somewhere, far off, a song was playing as if in spite of the carnage. The big-band release was one that she had become intimately familiar with during her time laying low in the city, one that had seen her chasing the bottom of a bottle of wine or two.

> _“Somewhere… beyond the sea,  
>  Somewhere… waiting for me,  
>  My lover stands on golden sands and watches the ships that go sailing…”_

* * *

She remembered sitting at a bar with a cigarette in hand. A cut-crystal glass full of bourbon was sat in front of her, and her free hand was tracing paths in the wet circles of condensation on the counter. She had shot a reproachful look at the gramophone that insisted on playing this new song of the moment, one she knew to have either been smuggled into the city or recorded through one of her tears. Anachronistic, if only by a few months. The citizens of Rapture were mad for it, though she had the distinct feeling that Andrew Ryan felt it bastardized his beloved _La Mer._ He would soon use it as evidence of parasites infesting his fair city _._  

For some reason the lyrics always hit Elizabeth right at her core; made her eyes sting and her fingers curl into fists. 

 _My lover…._  
_My_ **lover.  
** Why in God’s name did she always think of  _him?_

She’d polished off the bourbon in one fell swoop, leaving a blossom of lipstick on the rim of the glass, and stubbed out the cigarette in the dregs. 

The reality was that she’d always known why. She’d just never been ready to admit it. 

* * *

“– Why did you come here, Elizabeth?”

She jumped, despite herself.   
Booker had stepped over the pillar blocking their way, and was now facing her, ready to assist. His green eyes locked with hers, searching, intuitive. It was only now she realised she’d been ready to kill to see those eyes again. Or ready to die. 

Dispelling her thoughts from before, realising that the song had played itself to static, Elizabeth stared back at him, suddenly on the defensive.  
“– I might ask the same of you,” She deflected, trying to lessen the impact with a somewhat optimistic tone. Her dismissal of the question, however, spoke volumes, though Elizabeth could only hope he’d understand her reasons. She had no desire to see his reaction to her act of vengeance; this was neither the time nor the place to launch into a long-winded explanation. There would come a time where she could bring herself to tell him about the Comstock that had resided here, but not yet. She could spare him the details, at least for a while longer. 

Booker made a disgruntled sound in his throat, recognising the wall she was throwing up between them. He knew it to mean she had something to hide, something that would ultimately bother him. Still, his large, calloused hand maintained such a gentle hold on hers, his free hand clutching hold of her side ready to help her over.   
“You really need to ask?” He put to her, incredulous.  

Elizabeth swung one leg over the stone obstacle, her pencil skirt annoyingly restrictive. “… Call it– curiosity,” She bargained, and with that vague attempt at humour and cynicism, she looked up. In doing so, she realised her retort had fallen flat.   
Booker was staring at her, expressionless, wordless. He seemed very _solid_ all of a sudden _,_ holding himself straight-backed and stiff like some watchful, authoritative stranger. The way he was looking at her was heartbreaking - regarding her with such dismay that it hurt Elizabeth to hold his gaze. In an instant she was reduced to the lonely, broken girl that had cried for him night after night in her damp and cold apartment in Apollo Square. She almost flinched when he lunged for her, a strong hand closing on her upper arm, another following suit, pulling her over the debris. 

“I came here for _you_ ,” He insisted, unintentionally shaking her, his pupils subtly moving as they traced the lines of her face.   
Elizabeth’s expression faltered. She should have known it, but it was still hard for her to comprehend. After all they had been through - after all they had _seen_ \- she had thought it would have been easier for him to give up on her. Hadn’t she left left him for dead? At the mercy of Elizabeths that were and were not herself? How could he forgive something like that? And _why_? 

It was only when he answered her that she realised she’d spoken aloud. 

“Damn it, Elizabeth, I _won’t_ abandon you!” He snapped, raw emotion bubbling close to the surface. He’d only come here for _her_. The fact that she didn’t already know that frustrated him to no end, making it hard for him to maintain his aloof disposition. 

Booker held onto her for far longer than he should. The distance between them was no more than a few tantalising inches, dragging Elizabeth’s gaze down to his lips.

He’d risked life and limb for a chance for them to be together, despite all the decisions they had already had made. Together… but in what way? Elizabeth wanted to probe deeper, try and make sense of the truth before she could build up a hopeful fantasy in her head. If she was left to do the latter for too long, then she was afraid she might close the gap between them and try and stir him with her lips.

She forced herself to meet his eyes, inhaling sharply. The humbled expression on her face must have appeased him, because his grip on her arms began to ease.      
“S-So– what now?” She asked shakily, focusing on the important questions. The ‘what’s next’s.  

Booker hesitated, making out as if the answer should have been obvious. “… I thought Paris?”

 _Paris, I–?_  
The controversial hope was back before she had a chance to smother it. To Booker, Paris might have been as good a destination as any, but to Elizabeth it had become so much more than that.   
“Even though we–?” She began, but trailed off before the words could come out, stopping dead in her tracks. Even in his maturity, Booker’s reaction was almost– naive. Not that he had the ability to look ‘naive’, but it was something alarmingly close; a kind of denial so concealed and subconscious that he wasn’t even aware of it, like a forced gap in his memory. 

It was clear that he thought they were going to Paris because it had always been ‘the plan’. He seemed to give no thought to the truth that dared smite it, nor any thought as to why it could suddenly be off the cards _because_ of it. God, Elizabeth doubted he had ever made any connection to the fact that they had been bound for the City of Love  _together._

It wasn’t long ago she had been in a Parisian limbo, anachronistic and false, and she had thought she’d been happy because she had convinced herself she couldn’t be anything else. Stuck in a delusion of her own making, knowing that to conjure him into it would just remind her of the painful reality they’d been denied. No, what had started off as her dream and hers alone had evolved to become inexplicably entwined with him. It wasn’t just the city and ‘pastures new’ that she yearned for anymore. Paris had become a feeling, a hope, and a home she wanted not just for herself but for the two of them.  
Paris meant _being with him.  
_

Looking at the puzzled look on Booker’s face, she realised that he was completely oblivious to the fact.  
Elizabeth’s heart dropped, and she feared that her face was not capable of hiding the pain she wanted to conceal. _You have no idea what I wanted for us,_ she thought sadly, and it cut like a knife. _You’ll **never** know. _

Did that mean they should just give up? Throw the city of love and lights away for good? Of course not. ‘Starting over’ was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place. She would just have to re-evaluate, that was all. Determine boundaries and try to get back to the Paris she had wanted in the beginning; not a city of romance, but a city of beginnings. 

She should have _known_.   
Clenching and then unclenching her hands at her side, she forced herself to be strong. “– no. No, you’re right,” She finally managed, sounding braver than she felt. “Paris. It has to be,” 

Sensing her uncertainty though puzzled as to it’s nature, Booker narrowed his eyes, gauging her. “– it was _your_ dream, Elizabeth,” He reminded her, once again taking hold of her hand.

Elizabeth could only nod as they resumed walking, trying to sound grateful, positive and all the things she didn’t feel in that moment. “And it still is,” She agreed with sincerity, looking at his hand in hers. “… It always will be,”  


End file.
